


To Tell a Tale- A Point Of Opinion

by Kaiden_wantsA_Cookie



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassination, F/F, F/M, Fun, Gay Panic, Gen, Librarians, M/M, Multi, Mystery, One Shot Collection, Road Trips, Romance, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:36:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiden_wantsA_Cookie/pseuds/Kaiden_wantsA_Cookie
Summary: One person, event, or secret may not seem important. But what if a secret connected you to all sorts of people across the world? What if one event could connect everything? What if your story had so much more meaning? What if a tall tale turned into reality, someone you thought you knew was a complete stranger, and passerbys on the street became lifetime ties? That is the power of a point of opinion.
Kudos: 1





	1. The Door

The attic above the neat, off-white walls that lined my house had always been a sort of family secret; not because we had anything to hide but because we barely ever used it. In the three years since we moved in, I had only been in the room once, maybe twice, to get Christmas decorations or store things we didn’t need at the time. So it was no surprise that I had never seen the small wooden door in the farthest corner of the room. As I climbed to white pull-down latter up to the top floor to retrieve a sweater that had been misplaced, I noticed the small keyhole. And after more investigation, I had discovered the camouflaged door. The 3 foot tall by 2-foot wide wooden structure matched the wall almost perfectly. Even the hinges almost were unnoticeable across the room. The only thing that gave it away truly was the now-rusted gold keyhole. There was no doorknob, no peephole, and from what I could tell, no light on the other side. My interest peaked, and I rushed down the latter, nearly falling and running into my younger brother, Keith. 

“What’s wrong, Kai? See a ghost?” he playfully chimed. 

“Sure, Keith. Totally” I vexed as I rolled my eyes. He laughed and continued his journey down the hallway, and I paced forward towards the kitchen, goal still in mind. As I turned into our “modern farmhouse” style kitchen, I locked eyes on my mother, who seemed to be lost in thought, trying out a new recipe on the counter. She didn’t notice me at first. I gently slid next into one of the barstools across and called out, hoping I wouldn’t scare her. 

“Hey, mom, whatcha making?” I questioned, smelling the aromas spreading the room. My mom was a fantastic cook and an even better baker. It was her life, her job, and her passion. 

“Oh, hey baby!” she turned, finally acknowledging that I was there, “ I’m just trying a new dish, thinking about adding it to the menu. Its roasted beef with potatoes.” she gushed, as she loved talking about her meals. 

“It sounds good. So I was wondering, did the landlord give you any keys that don’t fit any of the doors?” I asked, not wanting to sound too crazy. 

“Uhh I don’t think so, Why?” she turned, mom instincts in full swing.

“No reason just wanted to see if we had any spooky history. I thought it would be a good topic for my final essay,” I pushed out, giving a half-truth so I wouldn’t alert her built-in lie detector. She seemed to fall for it.

“Ahh, I’m sorry. But maybe you could ask the Landlord yourself, just call to make sure he’s home first.”

“Ok, thanks, mom. Love you,” I said, slightly disappointed.

“I love you too baby,” she replied and went back into chef-mode. I walked over to the fridge, grabbed the small slip of paper with the emergency contacts, and went back to my room to grab my phone. Once I had secured my phone, I dialed up the landlord, Mr. Finch. He was a nice older man, about 70 years old. He rented us this house for a pretty reasonable price, and often had us over for dinner with his wife and occasionally his grandkids. He picked up after the 3rd ring. 

“Hello?” he answered. 

“Hey, Mr. Finch. Its Kai, I was wondering if you had any keys for the house that didn’t fit anything?” I implored, fingers crossed. 

“ I have one or two that I never found what it fits. You can come over and grab them now if you want,” he replied. At that, my heart raced. Excitedly, I threw my shoes on and ran to grab the keys. Once I reached the door, I rang the doorbell, almost too eagerly. As he opened the door, Mr.Finch laughed. 

“That was quick,” he quipped, making my face blush. “Well come on in,” he said, gesturing to enter his abode. The man began leading me down his hallway to the back bedroom, where he kept his keepsakes. 

“I looked for months to find what these fit,” he joked as he opened a drawer in the bedside table and pulled a ring out with two glistening keys. “The person I bought the house from died before I could ask what they went to. But maybe you’ll have better luck.” 

“Thank you so much!” I grinned, then said a quick goodbye and raced back home and up to the mystery door. Excitedly, I tried the first key, but it was much too large, discouraged, I looked at the second key, which was the same size. I sat there, almost giving up. I kicked the door gently in anger, and it moved, significantly moved. That’s when I had the idea. Maybe I could pry the door open. I pushed and pulled at the door and the hinges, and after a few tries, the old door gave in. Inside was dark, barley any light filtering in, and it smelled dusty and ancient, kind of like an antique shop or an olden bookstore. I flipped my phone flashlight on and squeezed through the tight opening, inside contained a deep brown burlap chest and a modest blue bean bag type chair. I know Mr. Finch had this house for two years before we rented it, and the previous owners had this house custom-built, so this room isn’t that old. However, there was a strange energy in the room, like something you would feel in one of the former, worn-down houses on the corner that every child in the neighborhood would swear un and down was haunted. It sent shivers down my spine. I crawled over to the chest, seeing the lock on the front. I looked down at the keys still in my hand and attempted to open the chest. The key was a perfect match, and a breathed a sigh of relief when I hear the click of the lock. I pulled the key out, opened the chest, and was met with more of the dense book smell. Inside was a handful of snacks, a reading lamp, a blanket, and some more trinkets.    
“ _ Why would this be locked,”  _ I thought, as I shuffled things around in the chest. Until my hand hit another hard box, this box was ornate and decorated but looked like it had seen many better days. This, like the chest, was locked. I went out on a limb and attempted the other key. Surprisingly, it fit, and the box unlocked, revealing a small, leather-bound book inside. The book looked like it was in fantastic condition. I pulled it out and began flipping through the pages. It was a diary belonging to “Tobias Gulliver.” The book was full of professionally written and exciting tales of everything from travels to the birth of his first son, Soren. I read many of the stories; each one seemed to get more exciting and bright until I turned the page and found seemingly no more writing. The final page that was written on was a single messy paragraph as if it had been written quickly. The date was almost two months after the last entry. It read

“ _ I’m not sure how much longer I have. I can’t run anymore. They find me every time. They stopped all my plans, and I expect they are preparing to expose me soon enough. My wife has already fallen victim to their scheme, but I pray my boys won’t. At least, I can go out with a bang. My life is on the line. Perhaps a few children will be enough to stop this. But just know, I’m not sorry for my actions. It was all to better my family.” _

The words scribbled on the paper made my blood run cold. Who is ‘they’ and what did Tobias do to deserve their hate. I hurriedly flipped through all the pages to find an answer, but there was none. The only thing left was a small, dark red stain that leaked throughout the corners of the last five or so pages, leaving an eerie trail down the binding. 


	2. A Packet of Sugar and A Drop of Love

I love my job. I had worked as a barista at a local coffee shop, “Love for Life Cafe” for nearly two years. The cafe was a hotspot in the town. Everyone of all ages would come by because of our large selection of fun, innovative, and personal products. I had been a big part of the menu as well. This had always been a passion of mine, and now I get to experiment with different flavors and coffees and teas and add-ins. It’s so much fun, and that’s not even the best part. By far, my favorite part of the job was seeing the joy a good coffee could bring. Today was no different. As I sat behind the counter, a familiar face appeared in line. The senior from the high school down the road came in almost every day after his last class, and it had become a tradition for him to make up a name whenever he came in. He always flirted with me too, which made my heart race. He was only a year younger than me, but we stilled seemed worlds away.   
“So what’ll it be today, sir” I giggled.   
“I don’t know, Ms. Willow, surprise me with one of your signature drinks,” he said, putting on a macho act.   
“Are you sure” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. He nodded. “Ok, and a name for that order sir,” I joked. Without hesitation, he replied, “Narwhale.” He was entirely serious, too. I knew that.   
“That’s a new one,” I joked. I wrote the order down and totaled it up. “That’ll be 5.78,” I said. He handed a twenty over the counter, as he always paid in cash, and told me to keep the change. I tried to refuse, but he just insisted. Eventually, my coworker jumped in.   
“Willow. Just take the money, or I will.” I sighed and accepted it. Then I began working on his drink. At this point, I knew the flavors he liked and the flavors he didn’t. He wasn’t a coffee drinker but instead liked sweet teas with spice, fun flavors, ect. So I decided to opt for a milk tea with cinnamon and a pump of vanilla and a chai bubble at the bottom. As I prepared the drink, I had time to chat with the man, as it wasn’t busy. We talked about music, and a new band he had gotten into that I happened to like. Finally, I finished the work of art and handed it over to him. He took a sip and seemed to be judging every flavor. Eventually, he turned to me and spoke.  
“That is amazing. What is this?”   
“Its a secret,” I joked.   
“I guess ill have to come back tomorrow to find out then,” he said and headed out the door, down the street, and out of my view.   
I sighed as I watched him walk away. He was so mysterious and vague. I knew almost nothing identifying about him, and had no way to reach him outside of my job. Still, something was intriguing about him that made me want to know more. Maybe it was just me, but the aura around him seemed to be one of power and confidence.   
“Girl, you gotta tell him,” my coworker said as she sanitized the counter.   
“Tell him what.”  
“That you like him! I’m tired of you sighing and pitying yourself every time he leaves.”  
“I don’t-” I tried to justify myself, but realized it was hopeless “I just think he’s interesting, ok?”   
“Sure, keep telling yourself that”


	3. Blood and Strawberries

When I began to wake up, the first thing I noticed was the pounding ache in my head. It felt as if I had been asleep for ages, and my body was attacking me for it. But I couldn’t remember if that was true or not; As the world began to come back into focus, I realized I was laying on the sidewalk. I sat up, which only made the headache, and that’s when I noticed the intense hunger. Overall, I was stuck in a daze. I couldn’t remember what happened or how I got here. The last thing I remember was walking back from my job. I was heading home from the dance studio after teaching my last class and got ready to cross the street. That’s where everything goes blank. After a second, things became a bit clearer, and I could stand. Suddenly, the male in front me turned around.  
“Oh, thank the heavens. You’re ok. I was scared you were too gone,” he sighed, relieved.  
“Huh?” I asked. He wasn’t making any sense.  
“I wanted to take you to the hospital, but there were too many broken bones and too much blood loss. That’s actually why I didn’t think it would work. But it did, you’re alive. I’m Allister, by the way.”  
“What the hell do you mean ‘im alive’” I asked, almost angry at the lack of information i had received.  
“Oh, well. About that…” he began but was interrupted by the sound of heels on the sidewalk. A girl passed by, she looked to be around my age: 20 or so. As she passed by, scents filled my nose. She smelled slightly of coffee and strawberries, and… blood. The smell seemed to trigger my hunger even more. Suddenly, l leaped forward at record speeds. But Allister’s hand caught me as she screamed, snapping me back to my right mind.  
“What the hell, man?” she said in terror and anger.  
“Sorry, miss. My friend can be a little aggressive. Don’t worry; he won’t hurt you,” Allister chimed. The lady scattered away. As soon as she was gone, Allister turned to me.  
“That’s just a side effect. You’ll get used to it.”  
“GET USED TO WHAT,” I shouted, confused and enraged.  
“The intense attraction to certain smells, specifically blood. Comes with the fangs I’m afraid.” he quipped as if it were nothing.  
“The…. fangs?” I said, feeling my teeth. He was right. There, in front of my mandible, was a set of fangs. “Are you telling me im…. A vampire?”  
“Well, we prefer the term ‘a reborn,’ but technically.”  
“So that means … I’m dead, and have to drink blood to survive, and no sunlight….”  
“Whoa, slow down there, buddy. Despite popular belief, we don’t live off blood. It’s more like alcohol to us. And you aren’t dead, just not… human. The sun thing is true, though. It’ll give you one hell of a sunburn. It’s not as bad as myths have it, we just have much more sensitive skin. Stay away from silvers too, but other than that, it’s not that bad.”  
“Then why did I nearly attack that girl?!”  
“Oh, you’ll get used to the urges and heightened sense of smell eventually. Eating would help a whole lot. What’s your name?”  
“Uh… Jasper. I’m jasper.”  
“Ok, at least you remember your name. Remember anything else,” he asked, my memories were slowly coming back.  
“YOU HIT ME WITH YOUR CAR!” I angrily yelled, now aware of how I ended up on the pavement.  
“I know, I’m sorry. But at least your ok?”  
“How is this ok?”  
“Youll be fine. Let me make you dinner to make up for it,” he said, extending his hand. I doubted taking it; the situation was so crazy, almost too crazy not to believe. Despite my better judgment, I placed my hand in his.  
“You know what might as well,” I said, and began following Allister wherever he was leading, “You don’t have any strawberries, do you?” suddenly hit with cravings.


	4. Gun Shots

*****TW: VIOLENCE, DEATH*****  
It was quite, almost to the point of deafening deadly silence. Typically, small, hidden creatures would scurry about under the moonlight at this time, but there seemed to be nothing under tonight’s dense atmosphere. Not even the moon or glorious stars cared to grace the sky with their presence. For me, it was equally the worst and best time to strike. The dark scenery made dashing in and out of shadows a matter of habit and not skill, but the foggy night also amplified every sound, making steps even harder. No matter, this wasn’t my first rodeo, nor my last so long as Aviva was under their care. Carefully, I made my way across the shrubbery covering the perimeter of the charming, brand-new house. Lights in the study and Kitchen were on, guiding my every move. I had learned to always double-check every step I made, before during and after a job. It was best not to leave many loose ends. Luckily, the children in this family left for summer camp earlier this week, and wouldn’t arrive home for another two days, or weren’t planning to at least. Things like me tended to shake-up plans, though. This man was smart, keeping his safe place almost inaccessible to most people. But I had been trained for this. I had had years of beating- I mean teaching- to make sure I calculated every misstep, mistake, and opportunity, and it paid off. It was a hot day, hotter than most, and the July air seeped inside from every possible angle, the only way most people could solve this, was open the window. I snuck over, stalking into the opening without alerting the poor soul. Finally, he turned around, seeing me, and the object in my hand.  
“Y-you… what are you…” he began, obviously buying time. I pulled down my standard black mask, revealing my face.  
“We both know why I’m here, Mr.T,” I said, sitting on the couch on the other side of the room.  
“Wait, we can talk about this, Archer. You don’t have to…” he pleaded, recognizing the situation he was in.  
“I do, actually.”  
“Please… I have a family…” he cried out, tears leaking down his face.  
“The others had families too. I had a family, look where my sister is because of you.”  
“So, this is revenge for Aviva.”  
“It is sweet, but no. They were sick of your games. The agency may be sick; I may be sick. But you’re just evil. Even I know that”  
“You’re just a no-good killer, just like me,” he flamed, finally snapping back. He knew his time was drawing near. But those words still cut deep. I stood up and crept forward, eyes locked on him. He stared back in pure fear and regret.  
“What are you- ackgah” he chocked as my foot slammed his chest down, throwing him to the ground.  
“I don’t harm the innocent, and I don’t prey on the weak. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be a monster. Doesn’t that make you an even worse freak?” I quipped. He began to form a rebuttal, but I didn’t let him. I pushed down even harder, forcing him to cry out softly in pain.  
“And don’t worry about your wife. She won’t miss you much and will receive a hefty check in the mail tomorrow morning for having to put up with your dumb little ass for so long.”  
“Bastard!” he cried, only to be yanked up by his hair to face me. I could only laugh. My entire life had been planned out by the man in front of me and a council of similar men. Every hair on my head thought in my mind, and action I made was their doing. I had no free will, and I couldn’t even fight back. I could handle their harm to me, but not to the only thing I had left, my sister. She was still innocent and pure, and wouldn’t be able to handle what I do. I had to keep them complacent. Except for this time, I had little remorse as I forced his hand onto the trigger and lined the barrel up to the trigger. He tried to struggle, and his breath became stiff and heavy. Small pleas and whispers escaped his throat. It was almost funny, I had seen him as the most heartless creature on the planet, denying children of deserved mercy, yet he stood here begging for grace. Unfortunately for him, he wouldn’t get it.  
“Do you want a note, or is unexplained suicide enough for you.”  
“I want a -” he began to plead, but I didn’t wait. I forced his finger to pull the trigger, and the life left him. I let him drop onto the floor and began to escape; you could hear his wife’s steps approaching the door. There was not much time to make a clean escape, but I knew one thing. His diary, which had been lying on the desk and now had patches of blood on the final pages, was a loose end. I locked it back, where I knew he always kept it and fled. The neighbor’s lights were coming on, most likely they had been awoken by the noise. But I still had plenty of time to leave. It would be at least 10 mins before anyone got there, and my car was a quick sprint down. As soon as I was in my vehicle, I sank in the seat. Blood and gunpowder splattered patterns across my skin. He was right; I am a monster even if it wasn’t my choice. I used to cry after each hit, but lately, I’ve gone utterly numb to death’s stench, which seemingly followed wherever I went. I leaned back, sighing heavily as the night seemed to grow darker. Sometimes I wished I could be one of my victims- another broken soul who deserved it. But I knew the consequences, and I couldn’t let anything happen to my only ray of light. I turned the car on, and the engine revved. I checked the clock, 12:34. I pulled out and headed away from the house and back to my measly apartment; I knew that class would be hell if I didn’t shower and head to bed soon. I sped down the rural road as sirens wailed faintly in the distance behind me.


End file.
